


Illya Wonders, Illya Realises

by el3anorrigby



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: M/M, illya and napoleon being idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 20:37:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4680542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el3anorrigby/pseuds/el3anorrigby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya wonders and discover why Napoleon annoys him so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illya Wonders, Illya Realises

Illya is assessing Napoleon and grumbles inwardly as he fails yet again to understand the internal turmoil he’s going through. He hesitates for a moment as if he’s found a clue but then sighs, defeated. He doesn’t know why he acts rather strangely when he’s around his partner lately and secretly hopes Napoleon hasn’t noticed his change in behaviour.

There’s something exasperating about Napoleon that Illya just could not quite grasp. Perhaps it is his annoying charm with everyone, his innate ability to get himself out of trouble effortlessly, his persuasive manner with the opposite sex, even with men sometimes, Illya had noticed. And Illya hates him for it. No, wait. Let’s backtrack a little. Hate is too strong a word to use. And he’s not entirely sure whether he did hate the American. 

And there Napoleon’s sitting opposite of him from across the room, leaning his head back against the sofa with his eyes closed, hands clasped together behind his head. His normally neat hair is slightly ruffled and he looks quite at ease. That sight alone makes Illya doubt his supposed resentment toward his partner. Their latest mission had ended and they are now enjoying some quite moment alone, to rest their aching and battered bodies, that is until their next assignment is called upon them.

Illya hums quietly, drums his fingers on the the lounge’s armrest he’s sitting on. Perhaps Napoleon is aware that he is watching him. Perhaps he’s not. Either way, the sight in front of Illya is suddenly rather endearing and he begins to question his sanity. 

“Cowboy,” Illya calls out to Napoleon, rather surprised that his mouth had moved quicker than his brain. He isn’t really sure what he’d wanted to say to Napoleon. But it is too late for him to retract as Napoleon is already looking at him quizzically. And Illya realises his lips are glued together as he simply could not articulate what he’d wanted to say. 

A few moment passes by in silence with both men now engaged in a mini staring contest. After a while, Napoleon slowly pushes himself off the sofa and leans forward with both his elbows now on his knees. He then cocks an eyebrow at the Russian and grins. 

“Hmm, is there a question coming anytime soon from you, Peril? Or are you just going to continue staring at me?” 

There is a hint of tease in Napoleon’s voice and Illya groans inwardly. Why does he have to make everything so damn sensual? Wait, what? Sensual? Does he find Napoleon….attractive?

Suddenly, the realisation hits him like a tonne of bricks. He cannot possibly be attracted to Napoleon, can he? He’s a man and he knows for sure how Napoleon is with women…and god, this can’t be happening, can it? Has this been his problem all the while? Overcome with emotions, he quickly staggers up to his feet, to flee from the scene like a guilty criminal but Napoleon is quicker and suddenly he is right in front of him, right into his personal space. 

“Hey, you’re not running away from me are you, Peril?” Napoleon asks. 

“It’s nothing and I’m not running away,” Illya tries but Napoleon is not to be deterred. He blocks Illya’s escape route with his body and smirks when he hears Illya’s exasperated sigh.”

“Step aside, Cowboy.”

“You’re running away, Peril. Why?” 

Napoleon is certainly testing his patience today.

“I am not running away,” he answers, his voice low and dangerous. But somehow to his ears, and Napoleon’s, it doesn’t sound threatening enough.

“Are you sure? Because Russians simply do not do that. Or do they? Do they run away at the slightest hint of trouble?”

“Are you saying you are trouble to me, Cowboy?” Illya questions. He swallows thickly, trying his best to hide the nervy tone in his voice. “Because you are going to be in trouble if you don’t back away.”

“Will I?” Napoleon counters. “As I remember, you were the one who’d called out to me a moment ago. I am merely acting on that curiosity.”

Sirens are going off in Illya’s head. They are too close to each other. He has to get away from Napoleon now before he does something stupid. But before he could move, Napoleon’s fingers circles his wrist in a firm grip. Illya could easily pull back, or alternatively he could swing a hard punch at that handsome face of Napoleon’s but the contact of their skin made Illya do the unthinkable instead. He pushes Napoleon back, hard against the sofa with both his hands landing on either side of Napoleon’s face, earning a surprised gasp from Napoleon for his efforts.

“What do you think you’re doing, Peril?” Napoleon mutters, his voice rather breathless. Their faces are alarmingly close, so close Napoleon could feel Illya’s hot breath on his cheek.

“I told you is nothing but you still choose to challenge me.”

Illya’s voice comes out as low and ragged and the heat radiating off Napoleon is not helping him at all.

“Why do you continue to do that, Cowboy?”

“What, Peril? I…I don’t understand what you’re talking about?” Napoleon questions innocently. He gulps as Illya steadily leans closer. “What kind of challenge… do you think…I am trying to engage you in?” he questions again, pausing at each sentence, but deep down inside his gut he knows exactly where this will lead to. 

“Peril, I don’t think…”

“Cowboy, you do not think I see what you’re trying to do?” Illya cuts him off.

His lips are ghosting Napoleon’s ear and the American shudders, the tension coming thick and fast. He couldn’t move as Illya has him firmly trapped. He feels his heart is about to burst out of his chest. Never had Napoleon feel more vulnerable than he is now but secretly he is loving every minute of it.

“Illya,” he tries again, using his name this time but before he could say anything else, firm lips come crashing down on his and Napoleon takes in the kiss without any hesitation. He moans as their tongues danced together and never in his life has he felt more aroused than at that particular moment.

“I think…I think you drive me crazy, Cowboy,” Illya finally murmurs against his mouth when they break free from their crushing kiss. 

“Is that what you’d wanted to say to me?” Napoleon asks when he is able to. Illya’s fingers are locked tightly in his hair, holding him in place. His eyes heavy with lust…perhaps _love_? 

“Illya?”

“Perhaps…” Illya says as he presses a soft kiss at the corner of Napoleon’s slightly parted lips. “Perhaps, yes.”

There’s no hesitation in his voice this time. This time he knows exactly why he acts the way he does when he’s around Napoleon.


End file.
